


Trust Falls

by ChristyCorr



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Co-workers, M/M, Yuleporn, enemies to lovers (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8971537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristyCorr/pseuds/ChristyCorr
Summary: Damen's made some questionable life decisions before, but subbing for the co-worker he hates the most might just take the cake. Damn, Nikandros is going to kill him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yhlee (etothey)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothey/gifts).



Looking for partners in local BDSM clubs was always a challenge for Damen. To start with, everyone in the scene knew each other—a bit too well, really. Between his own experiences, second-hand stories, and third-hand gossip, he could already veto pretty much every person in this room for what he needed tonight. Fuck. None of the familiar faces he could glimpse amid the veil-and-lace monstrosity that was Nicaise's décor stirred the least bit of interest. Well, none of the ones that weren't already claimed.

He raised his tumbler to Halvik with a smile as she walked by, Kashel's collar and leash glinting in the half-light. Then he frowned, noticing his glass was all ice.

"Another one, Nicaise," he said, slipping a fifty across the bar. 

Nicaise didn't even look up from his phone. "If you're trying to get drunk, there are plenty of places out there where it's way less inconvenient. Also, cheaper."

Damen eyed him. As the owner of this club and Damen's frequent drinking companion, Nicaise knew every single horrible thing Damen had so much as thought about doing in the past several years, so if anyone could cut him off—well. "This is only my second drink," he tried anyway. 

"And with every drop you get closer to the point where you'll beg _me_ to put you on your knees." Okay, fair. "And we both know someday I might just be horny enough to agree. And we'll both regret it so much, everyone will still be mocking us in twenty years." God, so very fair. Arrogant and prickly was Damen's type to the letter, but he really did need boundaries on his friendship with Nicaise. They were both too fond of self-immolation.

Speaking of which—his gaze traveled to the center of the room, a white divan where all the usual suspects gravitated towards Jokaste, her beauty and posture calibrated, as always, just so to make the center of attention. She was talking to a friend, as if she barely noticed Lykaios kneeling between her legs, golden hair spread against her thigh. Jokaste's hand toyed with Lykaios' curls, casually possessive, and Damen could barely breathe with envy. Things between them hadn't and couldn't work, he knew, of course he knew. But even just the memories of his time with Jokaste were almost enough to give him a rush. 

He followed the rhythm of her hands on Lykaios, the way the arch of Lykaios' body swayed with Jokaste's caresses, how peaceful it must feel—

A tumbler slamming on the bar brought him back to the present. "Not again, idiot," Nicaise said. "Drink. Don't do anything stupid."

Damen scowled, but obeyed. He tried to avoid dwelling on his romantic failures with Jokaste, and his mind drifted to the current bane of his existence instead—Laurent de Vere, the man tearing his company apart and making his every single day a constant migraine. It was only barely a more pleasant topic, insofar as getting punched in the groin was more pleasant than getting stabbed in the neck. Akielos was a family-controlled business with actual principles and proud of it, and Laurent was a corporate type through and through, who delighted in toying with people's lives and feelings for his own amusement. He looked so unruffled as he did it, too, always infuriatingly superior and never taking the bait to argue with lesser mortals. He simply sat there, uncaring, as Damen argued himself hoarse, trying to show him the error of his ways.

Drowning his sorrows wasn't the ending Damen had hoped for tonight. He really needed more than this. Arguing with Laurent was like trying to navigate a mirror maze, an exercise in frustration and endless irritation—and he'd been doing it every day for weeks, with only Nikandros to listen to his complaints, because Damen couldn't speak up against his father's wishes to other employees. It was a miserable, suffocating situation, and he needed to clear his head. Overdoing it at the gym until late each night and abusing his punching bag in the morning weren't cutting it. Grindr hookups weren't doing it at all, either. Damen felt restless, untethered, and he knew himself well enough to realize what this meant.

"Hello, Damianos," said an unmistakeable voice behind him, and Damen's heart stopped. 

Wasn't there anywhere he could go where he'd be rid of this? As always, Laurent took care to pronounce his name with precision—the jury was still out on whether he spoke some Greek or if this was some elaborate mockery Damen hadn't yet understood. If Nikandros was to be believed, Laurent had a voodoo doll of Damen somewhere and used his name for unknowable nefarious purposes.

Damen turned on his barstool to look at him, and his last-ditch hope of this being a hallucination dissipated. If it was at all weird for Laurent to meet a colleague in a BDSM club, nothing in his demeanor betrayed it. He sported his usual distant half-amused, half-bored look, making Damen grit his teeth—as if dealing with this crap during work hours wasn't bad enough. 

"Laurent," Damen greeted with a nod, because he was nothing if not polite, even to annoying dickheads. 

It was only then that he realized that Laurent was standing there wearing a tightly-laced corset over a black shirt. Damen's mouth went dry as he finally processed the obvious: Laurent had come here to play, too. Laurent was into this.

"I've never seen you here before," Damen said, trying to adjust to this information. His gaze helplessly caught on the laces and eyelets of Laurent's corset, then up at his bared collarbone, and down at the tight fit of his trousers. He had to remind himself twice to look back up at Laurent's face before he actually did it.

Would he have scened with Laurent before, given the opportunity? It wasn't like he'd never idly thought of fucking him before, but this was so much worse. Images flooded his mind unbidden. Giving Laurent a blowjob in the office. Fucking Laurent over a desk, against a wall, on his chair. Laurent with a flogger. Laurent giving him exacting, impossible orders. Laurent on his bed, moaning, writhing. Laurent, coming undone. Damen's mouth went dry.

All right, so clearly it wasn't even a question. Damen might not like the guy, but he didn't have to for this. It was kind of a turn-on, really.

"I haven't had much time for distractions since I moved here. Busy at work," Laurent said, with a self-satisfied look Damen would've loved to punch off of his face. 

He took in a deep breath to avoid snapping. "It's a good way to unwind."

He felt Laurent's eyes follow the tense line of his shoulders, sharp where someone nicer might've been empathetic, even concerned. Damen wasn't even trying to hide why he'd come here today, how much he needed it; if Laurent chose to tease him for it, fuck him and the horse he'd ridden in on.

"You seem like you'd enjoy someone who can keep you down, fully focused on servicing your partner, helping you do a good job," Laurent said, voice cool, as if describing the weather. Annoyance and want curled up inside Damen in a dizzying rush. People never read him like this from scratch. Hell, almost no one ever even pegged him for a sub at first glance. "Is it that hard to find a minimally competent Dom here? Nicaise never mentioned."

He swallowed once, twice before speaking, squaring his shoulders to try to put himself back together. "I switch sometimes," he said, just to be contrary. 

Laurent flicked away the comment with obvious indifference. "I'm sure you enjoy making a sub feel like the most precious of snowflakes."

Damen glared. "And I suppose you get off on complete humiliation? Dehumanizing your partners, barking orders at them nonstop, punishing them for the most ridiculous mistakes?"

For the first time, Laurent's face betrayed actual irritation, gone in a flash. His voice was like velvet as he said, "I like knowing how far my sub is willing to go for me, and how I can get him there. I like understanding everything he needs and the high of knowing I'm fulfilling every fantasy he's ever had." He stepped closer; Damen tilted his head up to follow. He could picture it so easily: no one was better than Laurent at finding just the right spot to push to drive someone insane. He knew this. It was suddenly, dizzyingly, the hottest thing he'd ever heard. "I like making people beg for things they didn't know they needed."

The words came out before Damen even realized it. "Are you offering?"

Damen regretted the impulse a second later, as Laurent examined him. The weight of his regard was almost intimidating, but Damen knew what he looked like; he stomped down the ludicrous urge to tilt his chin up or puff out his chest. It was ridiculous to worry about satisfying Laurent's standards. This was _Laurent_ —who, one, knew exactly what Damen looked like, and two, was most likely impossible to satisfy in the first place. He doubted Laurent would give him a straight answer, anyway. 

"You hate me. You spend hours every day fighting me on everything. You don't trust me with your company or your employees. You would trust me with this?"

"Hate is a strong word," he said. The well-worn line, which he said to Nikandros at least once a week, came out almost on autopilot. "I don't approve of your methods and I don't think they're a good fit for Akielos. I also don't see any point in keeping quiet when I think you're about to make a mistake." Laurent's nostrils flared in what might've been a barely suppressed snort. "None of this means I wouldn't be willing to play or sleep with you for a night."

"Get it out of your system?" Laurent brushed his knuckles against Damen's jawline slowly. They were so close, and Damen was so beyond sold. Laurent had to know this, had to be just toying with his prey. "Have you thought about it? What you'd want? What it would be like?"

He knew the answer, of course he knew, but he wanted to hear Damen say it. Damen was sure, then, that Laurent would leave no stone unturned, would flay him bare and make it hurt. He could do it, too, ruin him completely—Laurent's skill was obvious in the way he held himself, his sparing, deliberate use of touch, his wordplay. He wouldn't bother putting Damen back together when he was done, but, well, Nikandros always did bemoan Damen's complete lack of self-preservation.

All that was left to do was say yes.

*

They went through the perfunctory negotiations of hard limits on the way to a dungeon that Laurent had booked in advance—Nicaise's best, as it turned out, usually set aside for his own personal use. It sounded like the they knew each other well, and that Laurent was well experienced in the scene; Damen filed away that information to interrogate Nicaise later. Oh, God. If it turned out the two of them were exes, Damen wasn't sure his brain could even cope with the mental images, but it sure as hell would make a valiant attempt.

The dungeon was spacious and airy, hardly in keeping with the name, taking after Nicaise's personal tastes—he seemed never to have got the clichéd memo about leather-on-dark interiors, as there was precious little of either anywhere in the club. Instead, light walls contrasted with dark stained wood under soft lighting. The equipment, of course, was beyond reproach. Damen ran his eyes over the St. Andrew's cross, the bench, the suspension frame, the leather rack, the ropes and chains, and felt his heartbeat speed up in anticipation. He had no idea what Laurent wanted of him, literally no parameter or gossip to orient him, and their negotiations had been wide open on both ends. When was the last time he'd done this with someone about whom he was so in the dark? He couldn't even remember.

Laurent was standing a few feet ahead, waiting. Damen took a deep breath and centered himself, meeting Laurent's eyes. They really were very pretty. Laurent had his hands behind his back, and for a moment seemed content to just watch, immobile, as Damen looked his fill. Then he spoke.

"Take your clothes off, and put them on top of that chest. Slowly."

Damen took his time unbuttoning his shirt and folding it, and his undershirt followed. It helped calm him down; it was only then that he realized he was actually nervous. How far would Laurent take this? What would that twisty, unpredictable mind come up with? At work, Laurent was precise and cutting with his remarks, always too busy plotting to really connect with anyone, with never a word of warm praise or camaraderie to spare. Would he be like that here? Could Damen handle it?

Was he even watching him strip or was this just the first of many mind games? Facing the wooden chest meant Laurent was out of eyesight and Damen didn't dare turn to look, but he wondered if he appreciated the view at all—what was in his mind, seeing Damen bare before him? (Socks, slacks.) Had he ever looked before? When had he decided he wanted this, wanted Damen? Did he even want him, really? No one had ever heard so much as a rumor of Laurent having relationships or one-night-stands. He'd given no indication that he planned to actually get to sex tonight. Being willing to play with someone was no indication of desire—as his own past arrangement with Halvik, who was very much a lesbian, could attest. Finally, Damen removed his boxers and made sure his loafers were lined up neatly beside the chest. He'd run out of excuses. 

"Come." Laurent was now sitting on the far side of the sofa—lounging, really, without a care in the world. "Kneel."

He didn't even bother looking at Damen, didn't give any indication he noticed there was a naked man in the room with him. Rationally, Damen knew it was an act, had to be, but the need to capture Laurent's full attention, to see he was rattled, too, clawed at him nonetheless. But there was nothing he could do. Odds were Laurent would keep himself on a pedestal all night and Damen would go home with the worst case of blue balls he'd ever had in his life. He knelt, hands behind his back, and waited, staring straight ahead at Laurent.

He'd done this so many times before: knelt and waited at a Dom's pleasure, while they just watched, testing his discipline and submission. It had never felt this uncertain before, this off-putting—he needed to get to the peace of it, and he had no idea how to ask for that. For the first time, he wondered if this night between them would be a complete disaster. At what point would he draw the line and safeword out?

One of Laurent's legs stretched lazily on the sofa, breaking the stillness; Damen's eyes followed the movement. Laurent's pants were tight and black, like the rest of his outfit, and the shape and sinew of his slender legs was inviting, hips cocked sideways like he knew what that did to the mind of anyone watching. It was too easy to imagine what that body would look like if Damen held him up against the wall. Those legs would wrap around Damen's waist and those infuriatingly nimble hips would push back, demanding an impossible rhythm, Laurent taking pleasure as his due. "You've thought about sex with me before." Damen dragged his eyes back to meet Laurent's, who looked like he knew exactly what train of thought he'd just interrupted. "What did you think about?"

Damen was no good at elaborate dirty talk, describing fantasies at length; he always preferred doing instead. And there were too many possibilities, too many scenarios he'd considered for a brief moment before making himself discard them out of irritation. So many times he'd had himself in hand picturing a flash of blond hair and cool blue eyes, furious and turned on, hating himself for it.

"Thought about blowing you," he said, the confession feeling raw, almost humiliating, under Laurent's still-impassive gaze. "During meetings sometimes, when you're playing everyone against each other and driving me insane, I wonder what it would be like if I just started sucking you off right then. If you'd be more honest with your dick down my throat." 

Silence, still, and not even Laurent's breathing had changed. He didn't even look interested, just this side of attentive. Damen's cock, on the other hand, was clearly all over this. He was burning up inside with the effort of not reaching for Laurent, of not begging to be fucked or slapped or whipped, of not doing anything other than _talking_. This was fucking torture. 

"I wanted to take you apart—rim you until you were rutting against the bed, fuck you hard and long enough that you couldn't even manage words anymore," he continued savagely. "I thought of going to your office and spreading you out on the table, taking my time touching you everywhere, knowing what you taste like when you're on edge."

The corner of Laurent's lips twitched. "You really like that you can't get to me."

Damen reeled. "Of course not, I—" He stopped, blinking, and followed Laurent's amused gaze down to his now fully hard cock and back. He hadn't— "Yes," he was forced to admit, closing his eyes, feeling himself flush with shame for what was probably the first time in years. His colouring barely showed it, but of course Laurent didn't miss a thing. 

Damen was rewarded with a proprietary curl of Laurent's fingers on the side of his neck, thumb sweeping up against his jawline. A slight brush, just a few seconds, but Damen felt its warmth all the way to the tip of his toes, his shivery skin breaking into goosebumps. Something clicked into place in his brain. _Yes._ This was what he needed. His next breath came out stuttered. He hadn't even noticed his head leaning into Laurent's hand until it was gone and he opened his eyes again.

"I'm going to get a flogger. Stand against the wall and spread out your arms. Keep your hands up near your head. Don't move." 

Damen obeyed, eager, hesitation forgotten. He wanted—something. He didn't even know what, exactly. He wasn't even into pain for its own sake, but the idea of Laurent using him, even just the feeling of the cold white wall under his hands while he was made to wait, was already enough to make the bottom of his stomach drop, like the last step before the jump when parachuting. His breath was heavy against the wall, the coolness of it so close to his cock, and he could hear the sounds of Laurent moving behind him. One step of his bare feet on the soft carpet, then another, and another. Silence while Laurent looked at the options, the soft rustle of leather as he made his choice. A step, two, and he was here. 

"Can you keep your hands up on your own? I can cuff you to the cross. That's fine too."

His voice was neutral, but the doubt in his words made Damen's stomach drop. He could do this for Laurent, of course he could. He would just have to be careful not to get too swept away, but it would feel good to please Laurent, especially with something like a challenge. "No, I can," he said at once, "please, I want to."

"Good," Laurent said, and ran a splayed hand down Damen's back, neck to tailbone. It was like fire licking down his spine, like drowning after a long thirst, and Damen's entire body arched towards Laurent, a low moan escaping his lips. Almost a second too late, he remembered to keep his hands in place; his blunt nails scraped against the wall, but he managed. "Very good."

Damen smiled, warmth spreading inside him. 

"Close your eyes." Damen could feel Laurent's breath against his ear, so close it was almost tempting to lean his head back. "I don't think you need me to hurt you. What I want is to make you forget everything and everyone else. Tonight, you're nothing but _mine_."

Damen might have whimpered; he honestly had no idea, his mind nothing but Laurent's words echoing, loud, strong, absolute. He could barely form a complete thought—all he knew was that he desperately needed this. When a leather blindfold covered his eyes a moment later, the texture cool and snug on his face, his head lolled back against Laurent's hand, which gently guided him to lean his forehead against the wall. 

He was alone in the dark then, Laurent's presence focused down to the soft rustle of his feet against the carpet. 

The first lash came, a pause, then the second, and the third, and it wasn't really the pain—sure, there was a distant sting, not too strong, almost teasing. More than anything, it felt like a firebrand, like the drag of Laurent's teeth against his skin, laying claim to all of him. _This body is mine_ , it said. _I can do anything I want with it._

In the pause between one blow and the other, Damen sought, at first, to try to predict where the next one would strike, to prepare himself for it, but it was no use. Laurent never hit where Damen thought he would, sometimes harder and sometimes softer, never predictable. Damen gave up thinking, then, surrendering, his mind nothing but feeling, impact, and keeping himself up, even though his knees were begging him to bend. His arms trembled. Laurent wanted him to stay in place. He had to stay. Damen could do it for him.

He didn't know how much time passed. He let his body sway hypnotically with the impact of the lashes, burning stronger and better when they hit abused skin, sometimes lighting up new spots, always random. His hands stayed in place, had to stay, his knees barely hanging on, but the rest of him drifted away, mind cloudy yet completely satisfied, lulled by his back on fire and Laurent's steady, unrelenting pace.

The flogger stopped. "Do you need me to cuff you?"

It was so hard to find words. He couldn't, he didn't— "No," he managed eventually.

A pause, and Damen felt a rush of panic. Didn't Laurent believe him? Had he done something wrong? 

"I'm going to give you another ten. Can you handle ten more for me?"

His throat felt so thick. Was he crying? "Please, please," he slurred, and he didn't know what else to say, how to show that he could do it, that he was loving it.

"Count."

It was so hard to do this, he felt so good, why did he have to? Damen gathered the scraps of his consciousness, tried to focus on each hit. A sharp lash on his upper back, and Damen forced himself to say, "One," thigh, "t-two," shoulder, "three," back, "four," thigh, "five," ass, "six," back, "seven," back, "eight," ass, "nine," back, "ten," and it was done.

Damen made a noise of protest. His hands were shaking so much, his whole body. "Well done," Laurent said, and his voice was shaky, too, his breaths quick and shallow, but he was so far away now. Damen was still in the dark, with nothing of Laurent to tether him, and it was impossible to keep himself in place—he couldn't control his limbs, he could barely breathe.

"Please," he croaked. "Laurent, please."

A muted thump, Laurent dropping the flogger, and he was finally there, close enough that his breath warmed the back of Damen's neck, that the laces in his corset tickled the sensitive skin of Damen's back. Gently, carefully, Laurent ran his fingers up Damen's trembling arms and guided them down, one after the other. He turned Damen around, still stroking his arms, and one of his hands went up to Damen's nape, playing with his hair, still so very gentle. It was so much, it was all so much, Damen didn't know which way was up anymore. Tenderness welled up inside him.

Unable to see, everything he had was Laurent, the touch of his hands, the barely-there sound of his breathing, thoughts of him chasing each other like quicksand in Damen's mind. He wasn't coherent enough to understand what he was feeling, how he could feel at the same time so focused and like everything inside him was about to burst.

He wanted Laurent, that was just about the only concrete thought he could manage, and his knees gave out before he remembered to ask permission to kneel. He scrambled to fix his posture, grabbing his wrists behind his back, and waited, mind going in confused, hazy circles with fear that Laurent wouldn't take him, wouldn't want him, wouldn't approve.

"Damianos," called Laurent, and his voice was heavy with something Damen couldn't identify, but it wasn't irritation; he hadn't misstepped. Relief flooded him. Laurent's fingers reached for his wrists, wrapping safely around them and holding on. "Come lie down."

Laurent slowly guided him up and towards the bed, directing him to lie on his side with a gentle hand pushing him down. The mattress was soft, the cloth smooth against his aching limbs. After a moment, Laurent curled up behind him, cocooning him, legs tucked into his, hands caressing the throbbing skin on Damen's back and ass, occasionally massaging the burning muscles in his arms. The pinprick of touch against sensitive skin was a delicious soft pain, rolling into the pleasure of Laurent's closeness and approval, all making Damen feel warm and pliable. 

Damen gradually started to pull himself back together, his mind catching on the details he could sense of the world around him despite the blindfold: the ghost of Laurent's curls against his neck; a pillow under his head that he hadn't even realized was there; the faint smell of Laurent's sweat mingling with his own; their slow, synced breathing. The dungeon was completely silent, soundproofed. Laurent's hands on him were a constant anchor, never still, slowly coaxing Damen out. He started to rock his hips back into Laurent's touch, enjoying the movement of his hands and wordlessly asking for more. 

"So eager," Laurent said, letting appreciation bleed into his voice, and Damen smiled. Laurent's fingers slipped further this time, reaching around Damen's hips to grip his neglected dick tightly. Damen, half-hard, gasped and jerked his hips forward, trying for friction, but no dice; Laurent's grip was too strong. "You've done such a good job tonight, I thought I'd ride your cock. Would you like that?"

There weren't enough words in the world. Every corner of Damen's brain lit up at once. " _Yes._ " 

"I'm going to get myself ready," Laurent said before withdrawing, his hand moving away, and even as the absence made something in Damen's stomach clench, visions of Laurent exploded behind his eyelids. He had no trouble imagining it at all, but he absolutely had to touch, to feel it.

Damen turned to lie on his back, face tilting towards the rustling sound of Laurent removing his pants. His imagination couldn't do it justice. "Can I do it?" he said, and after a moment, he heard a noise of assent. Anticipation started building up inside him, almost as eager for this as for the act itself. He would finally have free rein to touch Laurent, to feel him melting under him.

He couldn't help a long, low groan as Laurent crawled his way up, breath hovering teasingly just short of his cock, abdomen, chest, neck; smooth, slender legs slid against Damen's rough, thick ones. Laurent was still wearing his corset, Damen could tell that much, but the rest of his body was skin on skin against him, warm and teasing and perfect. It was almost impossible to resist the temptation to reach out. 

"Spread your legs," Laurent ordered, and tucked his feet under Damen's knees, drawing himself up to sit, keeping his hands on Damen's chest, legs bracketing his waist. Damen's cock was snug against the crack of Laurent's ass, surely not at all by accident, and he let out a strangled whimper when Laurent made a torturously slow movement, sliding up and down against the entire length of him. "Mm." He sounded pleased. Damen was dying. "Give me your hand." A familiar popping sound, and then Damen felt lube dripping onto his outstretched fingers. "Do it."

Damen wasted no time getting his hands on Laurent's ass; it felt even more incredible against his hands than he'd imagined, so strong and tight that Damen couldn't help wishing he could get his mouth there for a bite or more. His dry fingers explored the contours of each muscle, splaying against the thigh and kneading his way up to the cheek, part of him still incredulous that he was allowed to do this; the dips towards to Laurent's back; the crack leading down, avoiding his hole for now; the soft underside of Laurent's balls, barely reachable from this angle.

Laurent's breathing was slow and steady, his body barely moving; Damen could only feel his pleasure in the slight tremor of the muscles beneath his fingers. He was glad for the blindfold, and committed every inch of skin he could touch to memory, focusing all his attention on finding what Laurent liked best, his own orgasm taking a distant backseat to the need to find a way to make Laurent feel good. It made perfect sense that Laurent should be as controlled and self-possessed in this as in all other things; but for once Damen was finding his way behind the curtain.

When he reached back with his lubed finger to touch Laurent's hole, only the slightest twitch of the thigh betrayed that Laurent had felt it, but it was enough for Damen; he toyed with the rim lightly, teasing on and on, and Laurent's hands on his chest tightened their grasp, tugging at his chest hair. He could tell Laurent's breathing was only kept slow through sheer force of will, could feel in his bones that Laurent was loving every second of this and just required more dedication to lose himself in it. It was a challenge, really, daring Damen to do his worst—and he had every intention of doing so. He had no other way to communicate just how happy he'd be if Laurent let his guard down for once, no way to promise that he'd tread carefully if Laurent exposed his vulnerable side.

"Can you take off the corset?" he asked.

Laurent didn't respond, but Damen sensed his movements in the displaced air between them and the soft sound of fabric, and within a few moments, heard it hit the floor. He brought a hand to rest on Laurent's stomach, enjoying the feel of his strained control, stroking upwards to flick at his hardened nipples, his the strained tendons in his arched neck, and down again. Damen had had so many lovers who were vocal, loud, even almost hysterical, but he'd never felt this fierce sense of pride at the smallest reaction, treasuring every inch of gained ground—he was winning over Laurent, little by little, and making him his.

By the time Damen slipped the tip of his finger in, Laurent's hips relaxed palpably, inviting it deeper, and the long breath he let out was as good as a moan. His skin was sticky with pre-come, and Damen brushed his thumb against the slit of Laurent's dick, savoring how readily it responded to him, how hot and urgent it felt in his hand. He continued stroking lightly as he added another finger, exploring different angles, feeling his way around until he knew all the angles that made Laurent's body stiffen, arch back despite his iron will.

"Let me," Damen said, and didn't wait for permission before bringing his upper body up to Laurent's, chest to chest. The temptation to do more was eating away at him. His free hand moved to caress Laurent's back and Damen nuzzled at his neck, lips brushing against it, not quite daring to kiss. A shudder rippled through Laurent's body and he tilted his head to the side invitingly, fingers threading in Damen's hair and tugging him closer.

Damen's smile against Laurent's skin soon became a kiss, and another, first on the neck, then the earlobe, and eventually Laurent himself turned to meet Damen's lips in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss that betrayed all his desperation. Damen slipped in a third finger to almost no resistance, Laurent's hips now starting to sway against his movements, hands clutching at Damen's neck and hair. Damen could taste his panting breaths, feel the sweat on his back, every muscle in Laurent's body abandoning the pretense of indifference. Laurent was probably so beautiful like this, he thought, and he desperately wished he could see him—the flush in his skin, his eyes darkening, his body sprawled and wanting, his cock stirred, his legs open, inviting. Damen would carry the image in his mind forever, even if he never got to see it.

 _Let me in_ , he wanted to beg, nonsensically.

"Do you have a condom?" An immediate ripping sound, and an open condom hit Damen on the chest. He rolled it on; after a moment, Laurent's hand joined him and slicked it up with a strong, slow jack. Revenge, of course. Damen breathed out through his mouth, doing his best to keep himself together. 

Laurent sank down on him inch by inch, hips moving in languid circles until he bottomed out. He was so fucking tight. Damen could hardly breathe, didn't even want to. All he could do was hold onto Laurent's waist, bury his face in his neck, drown in, and pray he didn't pass out. He could feel Laurent's pulse hammering just underneath his skin, hear his soft, content sigh when he had all of Damen inside. 

Laurent started slow, shifting up and down just minutely, and grew bolder as he found better angles. He set a grueling rhythm, with his hips constantly rolling, tightening his muscles on the downstroke and nearly driving Damen out of his mind. When Damen reached down to touch Laurent's cock, his hand was slapped away, as if Laurent wanted to enjoy this fully and at length, and that idea alone already made Damen's head spin. 

They exchanged kisses that could barely be called that, just mouthing blindly at each other's lips, panting, as their bodies built up rhythm of their own accord. It took all of Damen's self-control not to come, desperately thinking of anything and everything that wasn't Laurent. He just about managed to rein himself in, though, and lay on his back so he could start thrusting up to meet Laurent, who leaned forward and wordlessly urged Damen to go faster, deeper, fingers digging hard into the meat of Damen's shoulders for leverage.

"Damianos," said Laurent, pulling his hair hard, and oh, he sounded so completely wrecked. Damen's heart soared. "Fuck me properly."

Helpless to do anything other than obey, Damen redoubled his efforts, thrusting as fast and hard as he could, making sure he hit the right angle. His grip on Laurent's hip was slippery with sweat; his abs started trembling with effort; his cock felt ready to explode. His focus narrowed down to this, here, to getting Laurent off and nothing else, ignoring the clamor of his own body's physical limitations.

Before long, Damen felt the muscles around his cock clench with Laurent's orgasm and fucked him through it, one last desperate push with all he could into it, and distantly heard Laurent's groan past the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Spent, Laurent's body sagged forward, leaning his elbows on Damen's chest for support. Damen rocked his hips to carry him through the aftershocks, and Laurent continued making the most delicious, broken noises until he finally stilled, breath coming out ragged.

"Come for me," Laurent managed, and the rough sound of his voice alone was nearly enough to push Damen over the edge. He'd done that—that voice, that arousal, that exhaustion, that was all him. Damen thrust one more time, two, three, and he was finally gone.

*

Damen drifted awake slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings for a moment before memories flooded back. _Laurent_. Familiar golden curls were spread on the pillow next to him, face turned away. Apparently Laurent slept on his stomach. It was interesting that he was still here—at the start of the night, Damen would've assumed he would be the type to disappear as soon as they finished. Instead, he'd removed the blindfold, cleaned Damen up, and kept him company overnight. How could he reconcile this Laurent with the heartless bastard Damen was used to seeing at work? Maybe that was a front, too, as carefully composed as the nonchalant way he'd held himself at the start of the night. Had he got Laurent all wrong?

He'd played before with bad Doms, selfish Doms, perfect strangers and known quantities both. He'd had scenes that were bad for him, that left him down and anxious for days. He'd feared Laurent might end up being one of those, too blind to anyone else's needs, too incompatible with his own, specifically; instead, Damen now felt better than he had in months. He was settled, sated, ready to take on the world. Last night had been amazing.

Damen knew this stuff had a way of baring people to the truest essentials: give them that much power over someone, see what they do with it. And what he'd started to see of Laurent was nothing like he'd expected. In fact, it was someone who was careful to figure him out and give him exactly what he needed—someone Damen himself might want to get to know better later, too.

If only he had any idea where to begin. At work, Laurent was unapproachable on the best of days.

He rubbed his face, and Laurent, maybe alerted by the movement, turned to face him. He seemed tired, eyes half-lidded, face so impossibly soft that it felt like a natural instinct to lean forward and bring a kiss to his lips. Damen had half a second to wonder if he'd be pushed away before Laurent was reciprocating without hesitation, as if they hadn't paused to sleep. 

This was what Laurent looked like when he was being kissed, Damen told himself with wonder as Laurent tangled their legs together and brought himself closer, hands roaming in idle caresses. Damen found himself stroking Laurent's face, neck, arms, the small of his back, drowning in him. He felt like he'd be happy to do this, just explore Laurent's skin, for days on end, ignoring the whole world outside these walls. 

"We could keep doing this again for as long as you want," he said between kisses, holding Laurent's chin between his fingertips like something to be cherished. He dropped a kiss to Laurent's neck and nuzzled in. Damen could even love this man someday, he thought giddily, though that could just be the oxytocin talking. "Anything you want."

At this, Laurent froze. Damen hadn't realized just how open his expression had been until it shuttered. When he spoke, his voice was blank, void even of the amused superiority he usually affected, and he moved away from Damen, back to his pillow. "One night, you said."

It felt like a slap. Damen had no idea what he'd done, what had shifted Laurent's mood so abruptly, let alone how to reverse it. "Why not more?" 

"I can't give you this kind of leverage," Laurent said, sitting up and putting even more space between them. Damen was losing him. He sat up too, keeping his distance, and it made him feel hollow. "I know what you want. I can't afford to give it to you."

"Whatever you think I want, I don't."

"You don't want me to stop reorganizing Akielos? To leave everything as it is, move on to the next job?" Laurent gave him a hard look. "Don't take me for a fool, Damianos."

Damen gave in to his growing frustration. "You think everyone around you is constantly playing chess, but some things are much simpler than that. It would be great if you listened to me sometimes, yes. I know I'm right at least most of the time, and I'm pretty sure you're too competent not to know I'm right, but you steamroll me constantly." A muscle in Laurent's jaw tensed, and there was something dangerous in his eyes, but Damen pressed on. "It makes your job and everyone else's much harder than it needs to be, and it frustrates me to the point of insanity. But I still wouldn't use this, us, against you there. I want this. But we're both professionals, and we can do our jobs without thinking with our dicks."

"Of course I _listen_ ," Laurent snapped. "You're the first person I run anything by. I've changed nearly every plan I've had for Akielos after our meetings. You're always too busy complaining I'm pulling strings at all to notice I'm pulling them the way you want me to. Didn't you notice that none of your nightmare scenarios actually happened?"

Damen could only stare in complete shock. His brain started reexamining the past few weeks under this new light, and oh, a lot of things suddenly started to make sense. Laurent had never given any indication that he had listened, but maybe the fact that he'd kept asking should've been enough of a hint. Had he really been too blinded by his own annoyance to see this? 

He felt longstanding irritation start to give way to affectionate exasperation as he remembered each discussion—that hadn't been Laurent ignoring him, then, just unable to let any emotions show, or even allow himself to become friends with Damen like a normal person might in this situation. There was no reason that they couldn't could change that now, though. 

"Normally I'd want to take longer to do this, actually win over your respect and everyone's, which would make everything significantly easier, but I don't have the time—Akielos has to pivot and fast, or it'll be razed to the ground."

Damen's thoughts screeched to a halt. "What?"

Laurent hesitated. Then he said, "My uncle bought his way onto a seat on the board earlier this year, you know this." Damen could see the cogs turning in Laurent's eyes betraying uncertainty as he chose how much to reveal. He held back the urge to offer an encouraging touch, and waited. "By my count he has nearly enough votes to oust your father as CEO and replace him with a puppet. He'll then get Akielos weak enough to be sold for cents on the dollar and spit it out, which makes Arles prime real estate. He has a puppet there holding his place. He'll go back a hero."

Damen felt the ground opening beneath his feet. His family's legacy of generations, destroyed on a heartless man's whim. Why would anyone do this? He knew de Vere, of course, knew his own father's suspicions about corporate espionage on behalf of Arles, his original company and their main competitor, but this was too much. De Vere had been victim of a hostile takeover himself not two years ago. Had it all been an elaborate setup? How could this senseless destruction appeal to anyone? 

"Does my father know about this?"

"I tried to warn him. He doesn't trust me—any more than he trusts my uncle. He probably suspects we're working together. It took me weeks to convince him to hire me, and the only reason he hasn't fired me yet is that I'm getting very clean results." He looked grim. "That helps him hold on to his sway on the board for longer."

Damen set that issue aside. He could deal with his father; that was the easy part. "Why is your uncle throwing that much money down the drain? Wouldn't it make more sense to reap the profits of two solid companies?"

Laurent gave a bitter smile. "The bulk of my inheritance is in Akielos stock, and I haven't gained access yet. Ongoing lawsuit."

Damen ran a hand over his face, absorbing it all. He could hardly imagine this kind of family enmity. One thing, regardless, was already clear. "You shouldn't be fighting this alone."

It was Laurent's turn to stare. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. He looked up with something like bewilderment, and Damen wondered when Laurent had last had someone who was on his side.

He insisted. "Let me help. No matter what happens between the two of us, it's my fight, too, Laurent. I've known most of the board since birth, and I'm not without leverage. We can open a different front against him there. Maybe even go on the offensive instead of postponing disaster."

If anything, Laurent seemed even more baffled. "And you just—believe me."

"Are you lying?"

A raised eyebrow. "No."

"I'm sure you have dozens of spreadsheets and projections to back this up, and I'll see them eventually."

"Of course."

Damen shrugged. He had no reason to doubt Laurent, and his gut said this was right. "Well, then."

"You just—how—" Laurent stopped, and took a deep breath, trying to regain his usual composure. "So you mean for us to do both?"

He was aiming for calm, but that much time listening to even the slightest variations of Laurent's breath had trained Damen well. He caught the edge of hope and nervousness in Laurent's voice plain as day, and it brought a smile to his face.

There was something so vulnerable within Laurent, just under the surface—Damen was hit by the desperate urge to protect him. He had to be careful. "I meant what I said: anything you want." Damen reached for his hand, and watched, delight and warmth flooding his chest, as Laurent allowed their fingers to interlace. "If it's just work, that's fine. If it's work and play, if it's work and a relationship, if it's everything, that's fine, too."

Laurent looked away for a beat. His voice, when it came, was soft. "I've never done this before."

There were so many confessions in those words. Damen's heart broke all over again. He didn't know how to do this, how to tend to the exposed core beneath Laurent's steel exterior. He moved closer and put his hand on Laurent's lower back; after a moment, Laurent leaned and let his body melt into Damen's.

"We'll figure it out," Damen said, and felt the smile on Laurent's face against his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide \o/ And thanks for the beta, [names redacted] ♥


End file.
